


In Bloom

by NLJ21



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Prohibition, continuation of someone else's fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NLJ21/pseuds/NLJ21
Summary: Kai's lead finally ends in a breakthrough - just not how he expected. Of course, she's never what he expects.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson & Klaus Mikaelson, Hope Mikaelson/Malachai "Kai" Parker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> There you go, babe. Don’t kill yourself, all right?  
> And this was written in like 3-4 hours between studying and exams

Above the lively speakeasy she sings at, Detective Kai Parker’s enjoying a cigarette-bourbon combo in the small and empty apartment. Except a bed and art supplies, there’s nothing in the room he’s currently sitting in. He can still hear the music from downstairs; beautiful jazz that lost its magic without her voice carrying through the sounds. 

Kai watches Andrea transcending her thoughts with the force of her eyes, projecting images on a canvas; it’s still empty, as always, waiting to be touched by her brilliantly soft hands. If only it could feel her touch. He’s exaggerating, obviously. In reality, she’s only standing in front of an empty canvas, doing nothing. Is she, though? Is she ever just doing one thing? Nothing? No. There’s always something going on behind those otherworldly beautiful eyes, always a secret, something dark and dangerous kept hidden. Which is why he’s here in the first place, after all. Secrets he needs to know are creeping behind Andrea’s mask of beauty, and the mask never slips. Not when he’s investigating her nor when he’s inside her.

Especially not when he’s inside her.

Incredibly, she becomes even less of a human and more of a hollow doll when her hips are buckling underneath him, when their moans fill the void. Something that should connect them, should bring him closer to her heart and secrets, only breaks their tentative game into an easy layer of evasion. He doesn’t mind that; a beautiful girl is a fuck is a fuck, and he’s not concerned with what’s going on behind her empty eyes. Not caring why they look haunted. All he’s come for is a case and all he’s staying for is that she’s supposed to be the lead that will finally push him on the path of solving this case. If he’s got to fuck a broken doll to get this information, so be it.

If Kai’s got one thing from his asshole of a father, it’s his pragmatism. Joshua was many things: a good detective, a better teacher, a horrible husband and an awful father, and Kai’s following his father’s every step, proving that the bastard son is as good – no, better than anything Joshua could ever dream to be, and definitely better at raising children.

Andrea might think she’s in control, that he isn’t getting to her, but he knows better. He’s been doing this for long enough to know when his strategy is working. If he’s wrong, however, he’s still consuming her, and strategies can be switched. Win-win for him.

Andrea is panting, her empty moans mixing with his grunting, sounding as artificial as her name. He kisses her and she scratches his back, leaving long, red lines with her perfect fingernails. The burn pushes him further to climax, but before release comes, she’s put a finger on his lips.

Curiously, he looks down. Normally she’s passive, gone, letting him do whatever. He sees something delightfully new: life in her eyes. Something must’ve caught her interest, and he bitterly realises that it’s neither him nor what they’re doing that brought her back.

“You’ve returned,” he sing-songs, grinning.

“Pshh,” she hums, her perfect lips pursed, staying there for him to appreciate the colour of her lipstick that compliments her red hair. Everything about her is perfect. It drives him mad. Nevertheless, somewhere behind that appearance is that crucial piece of information he needs to bring this all behind him, to be free. He will get it out of her; oh, he’ll get her to spill every little detail she knows. And he’ll love every second when she finally breaks. 

She pulls out from underneath him and pushes him down on his back. Climbing on him, she places a featherlight touch on his neck.

“My father,” she breathes, and he raises an eyebrow. Interesting timing to talk about her father. “It is him you seek.”

Interesting. “Is that so?”

“He is dead. Your case is dead.”

“Can you prove that?”

“That my father slaughtered a whole family in a fit of uncontrollable rage? Or that he is deceased?”

“Both.”

She closes her hand around his dick, softly rubbing her thumb in circles over the head. His eyes roll back.

“Not fair,” he groans, pressing harder against her.

“I have solved your mystery,” Andrea whispers, her eyes turning icy. “What now, detective?”

A stroke, a groan. “Now? Now it’s time.” He grabs her shoulders, roughly, reverses their position to be on top again. A moment of fumbling later, he’s inside her once more, finishing what she so rudely interrupted.

“You were saying?” Kai asks. He throws her a side glance, only getting an eyeroll and bored neck stretch in response. His jaw clenches. Damn her. And damn her beautiful face. It’s a miracle he has any sanity left. “Andrea?”

A funny look creeps over her face. “What do you think about my name? From your lips, it sounds far too special.”

“Sounds fake.”

“Oh-hoh, detective,” she taunts, grinning.

“Kai,” he says. “I’ve told you to call me Kai.”

“But that is not who you are.” She goes back to her empty canvas, still completely naked.

He gulps. So many times and she remains breath-taking. Maybe he can transcend instead. Shouldn’t it be possible to cross to the realms of paradise when his eyes are blessed by the sight of a goddess?

“No?” he asks.

“No.” Her ass is in perfect view and he takes no shame in taking in the sight. “You are so blind. Do you realise that, detective?”

“Beauty can be blinding.”

“Is that it?” she asks interestedly. “You wasting your time for weeks because of beauty? There are many pretty faces.”

“None like yours.”

“And what if I was your killer?”

“Then,” he stands behind her, placing kisses on her neck, “we would be in an interesting predicament. But a delicate beauty like you could’ve never done what happened there.”

“Hmmm.”

His hands greedily run over the free body she’s giving him complete access to, down over her breasts to her stomach. There’s too much skin he wants to touch, too much freedom for his mind to understand and too much for his hands to cover. He wants to feel her every part, connect her cells with his memory. When he traces his fingers over her face, her breasts and stomach, over her legs and feet, he feels something underneath her; electricity, unknown sensations he might call feelings, desire. Need. Something rotten, too. Something deeply disturbing is hiding from his touch and he’ll make sure to squeeze it out. It’s the feeling of death, he realises, that is rotting inside her; the devil has paid her a visit and played with her soul. He can relate, he’s felt it himself. His hands linger over her navel and her head is resting against his broad shoulder when his hot breath carries through the air and softly, quietly invades her ears.

“Why don’t you ever paint? You only stand here and stare. Don’t tell me you’re faking.” He fake gasps, adopting her condescending tone when he concludes, “You can’t paint. I’ve solved the mystery.”

“Detective,” her normal voice carries a weight of natural superiority that overshadows any condescension he could ever muster, “you do not possess the wit nor the skill that would force me to fake.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs, then kisses her shoulder, then her cheek, getting closer to the corner of her lips. “But we’re still here. Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Not bad, no.” She kisses him back, on his lips, embracing his touch. “I like you, detective,” she murmurs between kisses. “My time with you is pleasant.” The heat of their bodies, her breasts against his chest, the eyes of an unnatural, dazzling beauty almost let him forget her comment. It almost falls past him, to be forgotten in pleasure.

“Pleasant?” His heart is dangerously close to being trapped in her hands and she thinks their time together is pleasant?

“Distracting?” she offers.

He scoffs.

“You want information, I need a distraction. Our arrangement is perfect.”

This is the first time she has verbally acknowledged his reason for being here. “Uh-huh. You get your distraction, but where are my information?” Kai asks crossly. “There’s a clear winner in this arrangement. It’s not me.”

Smirking, she says, “But you get to enjoy yourself every night. The same truth does not apply for me.”

“Why don’t you paint?” he steers back instead of acknowledging his anger.

In the end, she always gets what she wants; she always manages to throw him off his plans. He’s trying to investigate her, then they end up in her bed, and after, she’s always staring at an empty canvas. Day in and day out. He can’t figure it out. But he will. 

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She chuckles humourlessly, giving him a look that stinks of superiority. Royalty talking to the common people. Kai’s painfully aware in what position he’s in.

“Have you experienced loss?”

 _More than you could ever imagine, you_ – He calms his mind. He can’t lose his cool if he wants to break her. “My twin sister died. After giving birth to my nieces.”

“How did that feel?” Her tone is not cold, it’s not warm either. It’s curious.

“Crippling.”

She nods. “What did you do after?”

“Worked. All my free time. Cleaned up my city.”

“Is that why you’re working on this case? Nothing better to do?”

“Is there a point or are you just cruel?”

“What would you have done if work was not enough? If it did not distract you?” She contemplates, then gently cups his face with her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. As always, her touch feels like it’s not from this world. “If you could not work, because it would require…” she struggles to find the right word, the first time he’s seen her struggle with anything, “life force?”

“I’d be dead.”

“So would I. So am I.” She lets him go and separates herself completely.

“You’re not dead,” he shoots back, slightly annoyed.

“Not externally. On the inside, detective, I’m long gone. Can’t you see it?”

He can. Of course he can. “No.”

“Blind,” she says disappointedly. “What do you paint when there is nothing left inside? Can I create something in this world when I am already somewhere else?”

“Of course.”

“Hm.” She shrugs lazily.

“But you’re still trying, aren’t you?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The inevitable.”

“Meaning?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t. You’re standing in front of that canvas until, what, you die?” He scoffs, walking to the nightstand where he’s left his cigarettes. He lights one, pours himself a drink and comes back to Andrea. “If art is lost, so be it. Who cares? And you still have your music.”

He closes the distance between them. His free hand is caressing her face. 

“Singing merely is me keeping someone else alive. Their work. Not me, not my life,” she explains, and waits. For him? For something else? “Can you still not see?” she asks, her eyes focused on the emptiness of the white canvas.

“No,” he answers, focusing on the emptiness inside her.

“Look closer.”

He does. “Nothing.”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Andrea.”

“You never have, detective.”

“Kai.”

“That is not who you are, detective,” she reiterates.

“Then who am I?”

“You are blind.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“No,” he admits. “Come to bed. We can talk tomorrow.”

“What will tomorrow change? It will be the same as always. You will try your usual routine of getting me to talk and I will do my usual to distract you until we are here again.” She takes the cigarette out from his fingers and takes a deep drag. He watches, mesmerized, gaping when her lips part, longs when she exhales smoke, burns when her eyes meet his. Perfection compressed into two eyes that are looking at him.

He ends with snapping at himself.

_Get it together!_

“What about your father? He’s my murderer?”

“Why are you here? What’s so important about this case?”

“You said your father did it,” Kai states. “Did what? You know what happened? What’s happened to that family. The massacre. If you know anything about it,” he says intensely, watching her smoke, unaffected, “you better tell me.” Pause. “Because the monster who did this needs to be locked away. Or better: executed. Cut to pieces and fed to other low lives and even they wouldn’t touch someone so disgusting.” After unclenching his jaw, he continues in a calmer, more inquisitive tone. “You’ve seen what’s happened to them, haven’t you? You know what’s been done to them.” He snaps the cigarette back, leaving her bare with the mental images that must invade her inner canvas with which she sees the world.

She crosses her arms and looks to be retreating into herself, taking a step back.

Kai sharpens his focus, observing every twitch in her face, how her breath hitches. He waits, allowing for the images that will invade her if she’s indeed seen the crime scene to work their magic on her. No one, except maybe the culprit himself, could see the scene and not be haunted by it.

What is that saying? A picture is worth a thousand words? Well, this particular picture will rip your soul out, chew it, bomb it, and twist it back inside you.

It’s working.

She’s shaking.

Cracked. Kai tempers down his excitement and covers his inner smile with unbearable intensity. Who would’ve thought it’d be that easy?

“That family,” Hope whispers. “The Bennetts. He killed them all.”

Once upon a time, the name Bennett meant everything to Kai. She was his entire life at one point, but they were young and not meant to be. Now all that name represents is pain. For an old friend and grief for his twin sister who never got over losing her best friend. Andrea thinks she knows about loss, but she hasn’t got the slightest idea about what real loss is. Kai’s world has ended not once but twice, and he’s become stronger through it. He’s been to hell and now he’s here, solving the case that has started all of this.

“Why?”

She watches his hands, then looks at his lips. “Th- they”- her lips are trembling- “kidnapped me. To use me as leverage against my father…” She’s lost. “He rescued me and… you have seen what is left of them.”

He has. Nightmarish scenes of slaughtered humans if you can call the remains that; decapitated, hearts missing, drained of any life that ever inhabited them. Whoever did that didn’t only destroy their husks but dragged their souls out and crippled them too. Horrendous, unparalleled inhumanity, something he’s never seen before in his career. All that’s left of his former love and his sister’s former best friend and her family is… pain. Pain that killed his sister and pain that drove him to this point. It’s about to be gone.

“There was one unidentified victim,” he says, and sees her eyes drop. Life, again. She’s there. Good.

Shrugging, she takes the cigarette back for one more time and finishes it, stamping it out on the canvas.

“Andrea,” he presses on, “who is the unidentified victim?”

“Life,” she whispers, more to herself than him. “She was my life.”

“I don’t understand.”

She hugs him, once again pressing their bodies together. “My mother followed him when she found out,” she whispers in his ear. “She tried to stop my father… it was too late. He was consumed by rage. So much that he did not recognise her until it was too late… I watched it happen.”

He pushes her back, needs to see her eyes. She’s too good of a liar to be left unobserved, especially when he’s worked all this time for this one moment. Finally, the truth is being revealed. He owes it to Jo, to Bonnie and her family to finish this case, to see their murderer executed.

“Your father killed your mother?”

She nods, faintly, he isn’t even sure if he imagined it or not. He drowns the bourbon and grabs her shoulders, gently squeezing. Something has changed in her, she’s more absent than ever, as if living in a different plane of existence.

“You father,” he says, “he isn’t dead, is he?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, clearly.

“He has killed the Bennett family and your mother, Mrs. Marshall, I assume?”

“Yes.”

It’s quite sad, if he’s being honest with himself. She’d been so mysterious, so superior to everything, but in the end, it turns out to be the same old. Even she cracked eventually and spilled the truth. Wicked satisfaction fills him, soured by disappointment. He thought she’d be more than that. Her promise was so great.

“Where is he?” His voice is hard, commanding, channelling years of experience of talking to criminals and inferior beings. Channelling his father. 

“He has killed Hope,” she whispers, a tear flowing of her perfect face. Shattered, her face is shattered, and so has her persona. All that’s left is her rotten core and for the first time, Kai doesn’t see the most beautiful women he’s ever seen. Now, all he sees is a broken girl.

Disappointment turns into disgust. He hides his contempt to continue his questions. “Hope? What do you mean by that?”

“Who,” she corrects. Her eyes are fixated on the cigarette stump on the floor.

“Hope Marshall?” he asks.

“Mikaelson.”

Mikaelson? Wait. “Mikaelson? You said Marshall. Your mother was a Mikaelson? Your father…” realisation dawns on him. “Klaus Mikaelson is your father?”

She smiles. Not genuinely but sadly. “You still don’t see.”

“He can’t, sweetheart,” a sudden voice says. The door opens, Andrea vanishes behind her picked up robes and Kai’s left standing, naked. Her lackeys walk in, followed by a man carrying the aura of a king.

“Good evening, _detective_ ,” the man says. “I’m certain you know who I am.”

“Klaus Mikaelson,” Kai confirms, smirking. Wonderful. He can end this right here.

In a flash, he has picked up the gun from his scattered clothes, immediately shooting three bullets at the bastard. Satisfying bullets that will drain the life out of the most heinous person Kai’s had the displeasure of meeting. Something is wrong, Kai realises. No one reacts – not Andrea who just saw her father getting shot, not the lackeys either. Klaus is still standing.

Smirking, he’s smirking at Kai. Three more bullets penetrate Klaus, but he’s still standing.

“You’ve done exceptionally well, Hope,” Klaus says to Andrea.

Faster than Kai’s eyes can see, Klaus has moved across the room, standing right in front of the detective. How? 

“What –?” A hand grips his throat, lifting him from the ground and his ability to breathe ceases to exist. Kai would be amazed at the strength, the little effort it takes Klaus to lift him, but he’s busy not getting oxygen to his brain.

“I wanted to kill you, detective. But my dearest Hope convinced me to let her play with you.” His smile turns wicked as he whispers, “I thought she may have fallen for you. Young women, you know how they are these days.”

Kai’s vision turns blurry as he struggles to free himself, hitting the man holding him, or trying to. God, his grip is tight. _Caught off guard with your pants down,_ Kai thinks bitterly. His father would laugh if he had any sense of humour; he’d probably just scold him with angry stares.

Damn it. Damn her.

Suddenly, air returns. His knees hit the flour with a bang of pain, and he stays on the ground as his hands clutch his neck. Fuck.

“I cannot defy the will of my daughter,” Klaus admits, continuing. “When she wants something, she gets it. And she wanted you, for a reason that is beyond me. What did she see in you? I asked her, and myself. Hadn’t I raised her with higher standards?”

Andrea – Hope, Kai corrects himself, comes to stand next to her father. A king and a princess looking down on him.

“But now I understand. You _see_ her.” Kai only watches Hope while Klaus continues his monologue. Her eyes are barely there, fighting in limbo, between life and death. But she’s facing him.

 _I did? See her?_ He thought he did, but maybe his current situation says otherwise.

“Few bother to look and you did. It must have been exhilarating to be seen by someone. Isn’t that right, Hope? In the end,” Klaus concludes, “she did her duty for her family. And now your game has come to end, leaving only one question: what do we do with him, sweetheart? What about your little friend?”

“Don’t kill him,” Hope says, still looking at Kai.

“As you wish.”

“What are you?” Kai grunts.

“Royalty,” Klaus says imperiously. “And you, detective, are nothing compared to us. Only a minor nuisance.” He turns to his daughter, his face changing from unparalleled wickedness to the upmost softness. Love. Unmissable yet blinding love for his daughter. Oh how good that must feel, the love of a father. “We’re going home, Hope. Tomorrow morning. Pack your things.” With that, Klaus and his lackeys are gone.

Hope’s feet barely seem to touch the ground as she’s descending towards him, crouching down once arriving before him.

“Do you see now?” Her tone borders on pleading.

“I do.” He holds her stare, hard and unrelenting, assuring her that he means it.

“I see.” No pleading now, just defeated. “One day, detective, in a few centuries maybe, you will hang on a wall. Maybe in a museum.” She smiles. She’s alive. “Kai,” she says his name for the first time. He shudders. “Take care of your nieces.”

“I can save you,” Kai says readily. “I will find and-”

Her disappointment cripples him.

“You are blind, Kai. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Apparently,” he says angrily.

“You know my family’s saying?”

Everyone who’s heard of the Mikaelson does. “Always and Forever.”

She nods. “If I have to explain now,” she says patiently, “then there is no hope left for you.”

“You’re alive, Andrea. Hope. Whoever you claim to be, you’re still here, on the same planet as the rest of us. You’re alive. Life is not over.”

“Am I?” She stands up, takes one last appreciative look over his body, and turns around. Without hesitation, she walks delicately, walks right out of his life.

Kai’s left in the empty apartment, listening to the still active band downstairs.


End file.
